


Just My Luck

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Just My Luck AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: Rafael Barba is lucky.Sonny Carisi is not.When a chance encounter leaves Carisi with Barba's luck — and vice-versa — will Lady Fortune finally get these two to admit the feelings they've had for each other all along?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Barisi cinema bang.
> 
> Based loosely on the 2006 Lindsay Lohan film of the same name. Anything you recognize was likely borrowed from there.
> 
> Thanks to AHF for the beta. To be updated every other day-ish and fully complete before the June 10th deadline.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Barba straightened his tie and smoothed the front of his vest before standing and looking evenly at the young woman on the stand. “Ms. Moloney, you testified that you spent the entire weekend of September 17th at the defendant’s apartment, correct?”

The young woman — Claire Moloney, the defendant’s girlfriend and his only alibi at the time a brutal push-in rape had occured only two floors down in his apartment building — sat up straighter and nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice wavering only slightly.

Barba nodded slowly. “And at no point during that weekend did you return to your own apartment?”

“No,” she said, with slightly more confidence.

“And who looked after your cat?”

Claire blinked, glancing immediately at the defendant before looking back at Barba. “My cat?” she asked, her voice higher pitched than before.

“Your cat,” Barba repeated helpfully. “Mister, uh—” He pretended to confer with his notes. “Mr. Mittens, isn’t it?” He looked back up at Claire, but she seemed frozen in her seat. “Your neighbor told us that she usually looks after Mr. Mittens when you’re gone, since you can’t leave him alone overnight. Is that correct?”

She was silent for a long moment before saying, hesitantly, “Yes.”

Barba was careful not to smirk, even though he had her now, had her right where he needed her in order to watch the defendant’s alibi unravel, and he made a mental note to thank Olivia later for whichever of her detectives had figured out the cat connection. “So I’m going to ask you again — on the weekend of September 17th, who looked after your cat?”

“Objection.”

Rita Calhoun stood, and Barba barely managed not to roll his eyes. “As fascinating as Mr. Barba’s apparent interest in feline care is, this has no relevance on what the witness testified about the weekend in question.”

Now Barba did roll his eyes, exaggeratedly, and mostly for the jury’s benefit (though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get anything out of it). “No relevance?” he repeated scathingly. “Your Honor, Ms. Calhoun’s defense rests almost entirely on Ms. Moloney’s alibi, and the care of her cat for the weekend in question is highly relevant—”

Without warning, the witness dissolved into tears, openly crying into her hands with huge, hiccuping sobs. Barba immediately crossed over to her, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to her. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, her shoulders shaking. “It’s just…Mr. Mittens died.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Barba told her gently, and he meant it, though mostly because a sobbing witness didn’t reflect well on him or his case. “Recently?”

Claire nodded. “Yeah,” she said, blowing her nose in Barba’s handkerchief. “He...he had liver disease. I had to give him shots every six hours.”

Barba nodded, and took this opportunity to get his line of questioning somewhat back on track before he lost the jury’s sympathy permanently. “I can tell you really loved him,” he said, still gentle. “Which means you wouldn’t have skipped out on making sure he got his shots.”

“Never,” Claire told him, eyes wide. “He was…” She let out another sob. “He was my best friend.”

“So on the weekend of September 17th,” Barba continued as soon as she looked up again, “you wouldn’t have left Mr. Mittens alone all weekend.”

“N—No,” she stammered, looking over at her boyfriend again.

Rita stood again. “Your Honor, I request a recess. The witness clearly needs a few minutes.”

Barba threw her a look, as did Judge Barth. “Overruled.”

“So Ms. Moloney, I’m going to ask you one more time — did you spend the entire weekend at your boyfriend’s apartment?”

Claire hesitated only a moment before shaking her head. “No,” she admitted tearfully. “No, I had to make sure Mr. Mittens got his shots. But…but he said he didn’t do it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Barba said, his lip curling, and he didn’t even wait for Rita to say anything before adding, “Withdrawn. No further questions.”

Rita stood again, this time resignation clear in the set of her shoulders — at least to Barba, who knew defeat when he saw it. “Your Honor, I request a recess. I need to confer with my client.”

“Yes you do, Counselor,” Judge Barth said dryly. “I also recommend conferring with Mr. Barba while you’re at it.” She banged her gavel. “Court will reconvene tomorrow at 9am.”

Barba stood, sorely tempted to whistle as he gathered his papers together. Rita muttered something to her client in an undertone before heading in his direction, clearly unamused. “Can I have a moment, Counselor?”

“For you, Rita? Always,” Barba said with a smirk.

Rita rolled her eyes as she followed him out of the courtroom. “You realize that you got lucky in there, right?”

“Luck?” Barba scoffed, holding the courthouse door open for her. “It’s called skill. You’d recognize it if you had it.”

Rita rolled her eyes again. “Gloat all you want, Barba, but there was no way you could’ve known that her cat died recently,” she said snippily. “And you just better hope that one day your luck doesn’t run out.”

Barba just laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said dismissively. “Now, since we both know that you’re going to take whatever deal I offer after that little meltdown and since I doubt you really came all this way just to hear me gloat, what do you want?”

For a moment, Rita looked like she might deny any or all of what Barba had said, but then she sighed and shook her head. “I wanted to see if you were going to the DA’s fundraiser tonight.”

Barba snorted. “When have you ever known me to voluntarily go to one of the DA’s fundraisers?” he asked.

“C’mon, Rafi, it’ll be fun,” Rita said, her tone turning wheedling. “And while you may have luck in spades, you know as well as I do that you could use some fun.”

Barba’s eyes narrowed and he gave her a suspicious look as he opened the door to 1 Hogan Place. “What kind of fun?” he asked warily.

Rita smirked. “Well, for starters, it’s a masquerade theme, and I know damn well that there’s nothing you love more than the opportunity to be dramatic.”

“Is that your way of calling me a drama queen?” Barba asked mildly. Rita smirked and Barba rolled his eyes before changing tacks. “What’s the  _ real _ reason you want me to go?”

Rita hesitated. “There’s an associate at my firm who’ll be there. And he happens to be gay.”

Barba gave her a look, pushing the button for the elevator with more force than was necessary. “If I even hear the words ‘blind date’ come out of your mouth—”

“And see, that’s why I don’t  _ need _ to call you a drama queen,” Rita said blithely, following him onto the elevator. “You always prove my point for me without me having to say anything.” When Barba just glared at her, she sighed. “Come on, Rafael, give the man a chance. He’s gorgeous, he does civil law so you won’t have to go up against him in court, negating your standard excuse of conflict of interest, and besides...he thinks you’re cute.”

Though Barba couldn’t help but preen slightly at that, he still gave Rita a suspicious look. “And what do you get out of this?”

“Can’t I just want to do something from the goodness of my heart?” Barba just gave her a look and Rita laughed. “Ok, fine, he’s considering an offer from a firm in Chicago and my boss is desperate to keep him, so I figured, you show him a good time tonight, take him to pound town—”

“Please never say the words ‘pound town’ when I’m in earshot again,” Barba said, drawing some strange looks as they got off the elevator.

“—And maybe he’ll consider sticking around.” She gave Barba a pleading look. “Please, Rafael? You get laid, I make my boss happy, it’s a win-win scenario. And did I mention that this guy is gorgeous?”

As tempted as Barba was to tell her to fuck off just for the satisfaction of doing so, he had to admit that the idea didn’t sound as terrible as he had feared. And besides, he needed to get laid. “Even if I wanted to go, I’m not exactly dressed for it,” he hedged as they arrived at his office.

Carmen stood as they approached. “Mr. Barba, it seems your dry cleaners messed up and had this sent to your office instead of your apartment,” she said, holding out the dry cleaning bag for him, but Rita snatched it from her before Barba could even reach in that direction.

“Is this is a Tom Ford tuxedo?” she asked.

“If it is, then it isn’t mine,” Barba said mildly.

Rita gave him a look. “Oh, who cares,” she said dismissively. “Knowing your luck, it’ll fit like a glove, and besides, now you don’t have an excuse not to go tonight.”

Barba sighed, but Rita had a point. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll go. Provided I get all my work done, anyway, since now I have to come up with a reasonable plea deal for your client.”

Rita rolled her eyes but chose not to comment on that. “Excellent,” she said brightly. “Then I will see you there.”

Barba just grunted in response as he took the tuxedo into his office with him. He glanced at the tag and made an appreciative face. The jacket at least was his size, so maybe Rita wasn’t too far off about his luck…

* * *

 

“Uh, Lieu?”

Olivia looked up from the paperwork she was working on. “Can I help you with something, Carisi?”

Carisi sighed. He hated confrontation, especially in the workplace, but this was the third time this had happened this week, and he would’ve taken it personally if it weren’t for the fact that, at the end of the day, it was just his luck. “Um, you forgot to give me an assignment today.”

Olivia blinked. “Oh. Right. Sorry, Carisi, I thought you still had a case you were working on.”

“Nope,” Carisi said bracingly, and he gave Olivia his best, most winning smile. “But I’m ready and able to work on anything you need me to.”

Olivia managed a smile as well, but it was slightly distracted as she sorted through the papers on her desk. “I appreciate your willingness as always, Carisi, but I don’t…” She trailed off and sighed before giving him a rather forced smile. “Why don’t you tag along with Fin and Amanda today? I’m sure they could use the extra help.”

“To interview an eighty-year-old woman?” Carisi asked, doubt clear in his voice, but he forced a smile nonetheless. “Sure, Lieu. On it.”

“Thanks, Carisi,” Olivia said, her attention already back on her paperwork, and Carisi sighed and retreated from her office.

Amanda looked up at him, sympathy mixed with amusement. “Liv forgot you again?” she asked.

“She’s got a lot on her plate right now,” Carisi said defensively.

“Uh-huh,” Amanda said skeptically. “In any case, if you’re riding with me and Fin, there’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?” Carisi asked, picking up his barely touched cup of coffee from his desk.

Amanda smirked. “I already called shotgun.”

“That’s fine,” Carisi said, mainly because, knowing Amanda, it could’ve been worse. “I don’t mind the backseat.”

After the car ride from hell, and Carisi subsequently spilling his entire cup of coffee on himself, he was beginning to regret saying that.

And from there, his day only got worse.

As Amanda and Fin interviewed the witness, Carisi was tasked with entertaining the witness’s dog, a high-strung chihuahua whose owner claimed had anxiety issues. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem — Carisi liked dogs and got along well with them — but this particular dog took one look at Carisi and decided to use him as a large and gangly chew toy.

“You know, I actually paid decent money for this suit,” Carisi said mournfully, examining the shredded remnants of one suit jacket sleeve as he trailed after Fin and Amanda as they left the witness’s apartment.

“Why?” Fin asked, glancing in the rearview mirror, and Amanda smacked him lightly on the arm.

“Just because you haven’t worn a suit since the 80s doesn’t mean Carisi’s not allowed to try to look nice,” she said, turning to smirk at Carisi. “Especially if he’s trying to dress swanky for a certain someone.”

Carisi flushed and Fin rolled his eyes. “Oh Lord,” he said, starting the car, “not this again.”

Carisi didn’t bother denying that he was dressing a certain way for anyone, knowing damn well that Amanda wouldn’t believe him and Fin didn’t want to hear it. The truth was that while he had started dressing nicer because he wanted to try to fit in better in Manhattan, catching the eye of the well-dressed ADA was a pleasant if inadvertent side effect.

Or would have been, anyway, if Carisi’s wardrobe change had made any impact whatsoever on Barba.

Over a year later and despite Carisi’s best efforts, Barba still never seemed to have anything to say to him except a snide comment or pointed joke. Which was fine with Carisi, because the alternative was Barba not noticing Carisi at all.

...Ok, so there might have been a  _ little _ bit of truth in what Amanda had said.

But as if reiterating Carisi’s place in the grand scheme of both the universe and Rafael Barba’s regard, when they went to 1 Hogan Place to get a warrant, Barba barely even spared Carisi — who had left his mangled suit jacket in the car, figuring there was no need to add insult to injury — a second glance before telling him dismissively, “You have mustard on your tie, Detective.”

Amanda managed to contain her laughter until they were back on the elevator, Carisi’s face burning red. “I’m sorry,” she told him in between laughs. “But you’ve gotta admit you might have the world’s worst luck.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Carisi said bracingly, “if it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”

As if to prove his own point, the moment he stepped off the elevator, he slipped on a patch of wet floor and fell on his ass in front of numerous attorneys, judges and fellow officers. This time, Amanda was kind enough not to laugh as she reached down to help him up. “It could be worse,” she offered, mostly joking. “You could've fallen in front of Barba.”

“Yeah,” Carisi said with a rueful chuckle. “That would be my luck.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Got anything?” Amanda asked for the third time in what sure felt like as many minutes, and Carisi came to the conclusion that ‘got anything?’ was the cop equivalent of ‘are we there yet?”.

“Still nope,” he said, clicking on the next video in the file.

Upon their arrival back at the precinct, he’d been tasked with reviewing traffic light camera footage to see if they could catch a glimpse of their suspect’s movements, since the prevailing theory was that he’d taken his victim to a secondary location before committing the assault. Thus far, after several hours spent reviewing so much footage that Carisi was half-convinced his eyes were going to start bleeding, he’d turned up a whopping zilch.

Not that Amanda had been doing much better reviewing her own set of footage, and Carisi felt like he was falling into a stupor as he robotically clicked at the next video, a stupor that was only broken when Amanda let out a triumphant yell. “Got it!” she exclaimed, and Carisi bolted upright, trying to pretend like he hadn’t almost been dozing off at his desk.

He stood and quickly headed over her desk to peer over her shoulder. “See?” she said, pointing unnecessarily at the license plate on the screen, which matched the perp’s car. “Parked right outside this warehouse on 14th Street.”

“Thank God,” Carisi sighed. “I was beginning to think we’d never find it.”

“We’re gonna need a warrant for the secondary location,” Amanda told him, and Carisi bit back his automatic and ill-tempered retort that he was the one in law school and that he knew that better than she did.

Instead, he nodded and told her, “I’ll go talk to Barba.” He returned to his desk to grab his suit jacket — his spare suit jacket, the one he kept in his locker, just in case — and added, “Head over to the warehouse and I’ll call you as soon as I’ve got the warrant.”

Amanda nodded as well, already standing. “Sounds good,” she said. “And Carisi — good luck.”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “I just gotta hunt Barba down,” he scoffed. “You’re the one who’s gotta get all the way across town on a Thursday evening during rush hour. I don’t think I’m the one that needs luck.”

If only Carisi had known how true his words would end up being.

* * *

 

Barba tugged on the cuffs of the tuxedo he’d donned for the evening. Part of him had hoped that Rita would be proven wrong and the tuxedo wouldn’t end up fitting. Instead, she’d been proven absolutely correct, as the tuxedo jacket fit perfectly and even the pants were hemmed to the correct length.

He’d have preferred a slightly more colorful ensemble, but his lack of bright pocket square and tie was almost immediately made up for as he bumped rather literally into Judge Barth, who gave him a wide smile. “Rafael, always good to see you outside of my courtroom,” she said warmly, followed almost instantly by her thrusting something into his hands. “Here, put this on.”

Barba glanced down at the mask she’d handed him, a gaudy, jewelled and brightly colored construction with a peaked nose and exaggerated features. “Oh, no, I’m fine without a mask,” he said, trying to hand it back only for her to glare at him.

“Put the mask on, Rafael,” she ordered, and Barba couldn’t find it in him to argue further.

Instead, he slipped the mask on and went to find Rita. “I see Elana got to you,” Rita said with a chuckle when she saw him, and Barba scowled. 

“I feel ridiculous,” he informed her dryly, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “So whoever this mystery man is, he better be worth it.”

Rita rolled her eyes. “I can promise you he’s worth it and then some,” she said solemnly — and in such a way that Barba absolutely could not tell if she was being sarcastic or not. “That being said, he’s not here yet. So why don’t you go get yourself a drink to take the edge off?”

Barba glared at her. “Who says I need to take the edge off?” he demanded, before pausing and sighing. “Nevermind. I’m sure it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out.”

Laughing, Rita patted his shoulder with just a hint of condescension. “You are distinctly predictable in that regard. But seriously, go get a drink. I’ll send your boytoy in your direction once he gets here.”

“Don’t call him my boytoy,” Barba sighed while Rita pretended not to hear him over the music. “I knew this was a mistake.”

Still, he made his way to the bar and shouted over the music to order himself a scotch. “And better make it a double,” he added before turning to survey the crowd. 

He was reminded by the onslaught of noise alone why he didn’t come to these things.

But then again, as the bartender brought him his scotch, there was free alcohol and the promise of a gorgeous man. And in that case, what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

 

Carisi was panting by the time he got to the hotel ballroom. He’d gone first to Barba’s office, only to be informed by Carmen on her way out for the night that Barba wasn’t there but was instead at some fundraiser for the DA. It had taken Carisi a half dozen phone calls and a dash across four lanes of traffic for him to finally get there, and he was certain that he looked more than a little disheveled as he pushed his way through the crowd, looking for Barba.

Instead, he found Rita Calhoun, who frowned when she saw him. “I didn’t realize NYPD was invited to this little soiree,” she said, slightly frostily, which Carisi mostly chalked up to his particularly scathing testimony against a client of hers recently.

“We’re not,” he said shortly, scanning the crowd. “I gotta talk to Barba.”

“Now’s really not the best time—” she started, though she had the sense to break off when Carisi glared at her. “Fine,” she sighed, pointing over his shoulder. “He’s at the bar.”

Carisi jerked his head in a nod of something approximating thanks and took a step in that direction, only to intercepted by Judge Barth, who smiled warmly at him. “Det. Carisi!” she exclaimed. “It’s so rare that I get to see you outside of the witness box.”

Though Carisi forced a smile, he couldn’t stop himself from looking over her shoulder, trying to find Barba. “Good to see you too, Your Honor,” he said. “Of course, you might not be so happy to see me in an hour when we need your signature on a search warrant.”

Barth sighed and shook her head. “The fun never stops, does it?” she mused before shoving a mask into Carisi’s hands. “Now Detective, even if you’re here on business, I insist that you dress the part.”

Carisi hesitated, but something in Barth’s expression told him it was best not to argue, and he shrugged as he slipped the simple black half-mask on before brushing past her toward the bar that Rita had indicated.

Barba wasn’t hard to spot, even in a gaudy mask that somehow accentuated his features instead of hiding them — or else Carisi was just slightly biased. Even dressed in an impeccable tuxedo and surrounded by swarms of people, Barba looked as casual and relaxed as if he was sitting in his usual seat at Forlini’s, suit jacket long since shucked and sleeves rolled to his elbows. 

Carisi envied him that ability.

Something in Barba’s expression brightened when he saw Carisi heading toward him, a slow smile crossing his face as he stood to greet him. “Well,” he said, looking Carisi up and down, “this is a surprise.”

Carisi’s own smile faltered slightly, but before he could ask what Barba was talking about, Barba continued, “I guess Rita was right. You are gorgeous.”

Carisi’s mouth fell open. “Uhhh…” was all he managed as he gaped at Barba, whose smile had sharpened into a smirk.

“She also said that you think I’m cute,” he continued nonchalantly, and Carisi debated the relative merits of passing out then and there. How could Rita possibly have known that Carisi had refused to admit to anyone?! “Normally, I’d take offense to that, seeing as how I’m about twenty years past when ‘cute’ was a compliment, but in this case, I’ll take it.”

“Barba, what the hell—” Carisi croaked, but his words were completely drowned out by the music as the track switched to an even louder song, the bass — and the way Barba was smiling at him — causing Carisi’s heart to beat erratically in his chest.

Barba didn’t seem remotely effected, instead draining his drink and setting it on the bar before turning back to Carisi. “Care to dance?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the music.

The question was delivered almost rhetorically, as if Barba knew that the answer would be yes, and while Carisi knew that he needed to get Barba to agree to a warrant, there was no way that he was going to pass up what very well might be his only opportunity to dance with Barba.

Amanda was just going to have to sit tight.

Instead, he let Barba grab his hand, let Barba tug him out toward the dance floor, and he tried to remember how to breathe as Barba stood a little to close to him as they began to sway to the music. “You know,” Barba said thoughtfully as he looked up at Carisi, “your eyes are the most amazing shade of blue.” Carisi flushed and opened his mouth to say thanks — to say  _ something _ , since he hadn’t yet been able to speak — when Barba added casually, “They almost remind me of someone that I work with.”

Carisi had the sudden, horrible realization that Barba didn’t know who he was. Or, perhaps more accurately, Barba thought he was someone else, and not only that, but Barba was going to be royally  _ pissed _ when he realized that he’d been talking to Carisi all along.

Of course.

Of  _ course _ .

This was just Carisi’s luck, of course — the moment he thought Barba might finally...well, whatever, the reality of course was so much worse.

His face flushed what he was sure was a mottled shade of fuchsia, and he stumbled back from Barba, trying to come up with some kind of excuse and drawing a complete blank. “I...I gotta…” he mumbled, but before he could choke any real words out, someone knocked into him from behind, shoving him directly into Barba, who reached up automatically to steady him.

“Careful there,” Barba said with a grin as he looked up at him, and Carisi gulped, realizing just how close they were standing, realizing that one of Barba’s hands was resting possessively against the small of his back.

“Barba,” Carisi breathed, their faces mere inches apart, but before he could say anything more, Barba’s other hand cupped the back of his neck and tugged him down to meet Barba’s lips in a searing and all too perfect — regardless of circumstances — kiss.

For one long moment, Carisi forgot that he was kissing Barba under false pretenses. He forgot that Barba was going to be unbelievably angry when he realized what had happened. He even managed to forget that this was now likely going to be his sole opportunity to kiss Barba.

Instead, he melted into the kiss, his lips parting with a small sigh against Barba’s, and he could practically feel Barba’s lips curve into a smile against his own. “You know,” Barba said, almost thoughtfully, and Carisi had never before appreciated just how green his eyes were, “I’m beginning to think that I may actually owe Rita after this.”

Carisi managed a small smile, even as he felt his own heart sink. Now was the time when he was going to have to reveal who he was, to tell Barba what a terrible mistake he had made, to—

Well, whatever Carisi planned went out the window when someone knocked into Barba, pushing him away from Carisi and sending him stumbling into a nearby table, causing the small candle on the table to topple over, and Carisi watched in horror as the tablecloth caught almost instantly on fire.

“Fire!” someone screamed, and Carisi rolled his eyes.

“No shit,” he grumbled, taking a step forward to try to get to Barba.

Instead, a swell of people rushing towards the exits engulfed him, and Carisi had no choice but to follow along with them or else risk being trampled. It was a good thing that he did, since Carisi had no sooner taken a step outside when the sprinklers inside the ballroom went off, drenching everyone still inside.

Carisi winced at the sight and quickly took his mask off before standing on his tiptoes to peer over the crowd, searching for Barba. Whatever else had happened — whatever else they would eventually need to discuss — he still needed that warrant.

He caught sight of Barba a moment later and winced again. Barba was thoroughly soaked, his previously impeccable tuxedo sopping wet, his hair plastered against his head and his shoes squelching loudly with each step. To top it off, Barba looked absolutely miserable and he glanced around. “Barba!” Carisi called, waving him over, and Barba’s expression soured even further.

“Excellent, an audience to my humiliation,” he said waspishly, attempting to wring out the sleeves of his jacket as he made his way over to Carisi. “Can I help you with something, Detective? Or this just the world’s most unlucky timing?”

“Actually, yeah, I need a warrant,” Carisi said shortly.

Barba grunted in response, busy looking over Carisi’s shoulder as if trying to find someone, and Carisi had the sinking realization that he was trying to find the man that he had been kissing, with clearly no idea that said man was standing right in front of him.

Well, if Carisi was looking for proof that Barba really didn’t pay that much attention to how much better he’d started dressing, this was it.

He cleared his throat. “Barba,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of Barba’s face, and Barba glared at him. “Warrant. We have a secondary location we need to search.”

Carisi handed over the print out of the photo of suspect’s car in front of the warehouse they needed to search and Barba glanced down at it. “Great,” he said. “Barth was around here somewhere. I’ll talk to her and call you when you’re cleared to search.”

“Thanks,” Carisi said, hesitating before adding, “We should, uh, we should probably talk—”

Barba brushed past him without another word, and Carisi sighed. Not that he’d expected a different outcome, because he hadn’t, truly. But part of him couldn’t help but wish that when Barba had kissed him tonight that he’d have somehow — magically, or luckily, or whatever — realized that it’d been Carisi he was kissing all along.

But luck had never been on Carisi’s side, especially not now, so Carisi just sighed again and turned to push his way back through the crowd and to his car so that he could make his way to the crime scene and hopefully forget that his night had ever happened.


	3. Chapter 3

Barba pushed back through the throngs of people waiting to see if or when they could get back into the ballroom. He spotted Rita and snagged her before she could brush past him. “Rita,” he called over the hubbub. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“You’re wet,” Rita told him, almost amused, and Barba rolled his eyes.

“I know that, thanks,” he said snippily. “Did you see where my date for the evening ran off to?”

Rita frowned. “Your date?” she repeated.

“Yes, the gentleman from your law firm that you set me up with?”

Rita shook her head slowly. “He never showed,” she told him, somewhat apologetically. “And obviously I’m going to text him now to tell him not to bother.”

Barba stared at her. “He never…” He trailed off, realization dawning. 

He hadn’t kissed the guy from Rita’s law firm.

He had instead casually made out with a stranger.

Barba felt like he was back in college.

And not in a good way.

He shook his head and looked back at Rita, swallowing down his disappointment that he might never now figure out who the mystery man was. “In that case, have you seen Elana Barth? I need to talk to her about a warrant.”

Rita tsk-ed loudly. “Working during a masquerade ball?” she chided, and when Barba just glared at her, rolled her eyes and shrugged before pointing to her left. “I saw her go that way.”

“Thanks,” Barba said shortly, heading off in that direction and trying desperately not think about who in the hell he’d spent part of his evening kissing and flirting with.

* * *

 

Carisi had just arrived at the warehouse when his phone pinged with a text from Barba, and Carisi glanced down at it before maneuvering his car into the perfect parking place directly outside the warehouse. “Huh,” he said, glancing around for a ‘no parking’ sign or a fire hydrant or some reason why no one else had parked in what had to have been prime real estate as far as parking spots go. “Well that’s lucky.”

He got out and found Amanda waiting for him, irritation clear in her expression. “How the hell’d you find that spot?” she demanded. “I had to park four blocks away and walk.”

Carisi shrugged, reading through Barba’s text. “We’re good to search,” he said in lieu of answering Amanda’s question. “Official warrant is being processed as we speak but Barba said we’re free to enter the property.”

“What, no long, rambling speech about the Fourth Amendment?” Amanda teased as she unholstered her gun.

Shrugging again, Carisi followed suit and led the way to the warehouse door. “Not really in the mood,” he said, and Amanda frowned slightly.

“The hell did Barba do to you?”

It was clearly a joke but Carisi could feel himself blush, and to try to hide it, he turned and banged on the warehouse door and called, “NYPD! We have a warrant to search these premises.”

There was no answer, not that he’d been expecting one, and Carisi glanced back at Rollins before reaching down and trying to open the door. “Unlocked,” he reported, and shouldered the door open, gun raised. He and Amanda quickly spread out, doing a cursory check of the premises. “Clear!” Carisi called, glancing around him at the piles of old junk someone was clearly storing here.

“Clear,” Amanda echoed, and they reconvened in front of the door, both reholstering their guns. “So what exactly are we looking for?” 

“Ideally, the knife he had when he abducting the victim,” Carisi said with a shrug. “But I somehow doubt it’ll be that easy. So, I dunno, the usual I guess — rope, restraints, blood…”

“Kidnapping 101,” Amanda sighed. She glanced up at him. “You take the left side, I’ll take the right side?”

Carisi shrugged. “Seems fair to me,” he said. 

Amanda nodded, already pulling her gloves on. “And just to make it interesting, since we’re probably going to be in for a long night, what do see we put a little wager on it?”

“What kind of wager?” Carisi asked with a laugh. 

“The usual,” Amanda said, sorting through a stack of old newspapers.

Carisi chuckled and shook his head. “Candy bar of winner’s choosing back at the precinct?” he guessed.

Amanda looked over at him and grinned. “Got it in one.”

Carisi shook his head again. “You know I shouldn’t be encouraging this,” he said as he pulled on his own gloves.

“Why, because you’re encouraging my gambling addiction, or because you know you always end up owing me?”

Carisi rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny it. He was probably 0 for 15 on recent such wagers, and he was already trying to remember if he had enough change in the top drawer of his desk when he caught sight of something sitting rather obtrusively on top of a pile of junk. “Uh...Amanda?”

Amanda looked over at him and Carisi carefully picked up the bloody knife by the end of the handle. “Is, uh, is this what we’re looking for?”

Amanda stared at him. “Son of a bitch,” she said, sounding almost baffled. “Well, that’s lucky.”

Carisi shrugged, as amazed as she was at the turn of events. “Well,” he said, “first time for everything.” He smirked at Amanda. “And now I believe you owe me a candy bar.”

“Son of a bitch,” Amanda repeated, and Carisi couldn’t quite stop his grin.

* * *

 

After finding the knife, it was simply a matter of turning the scene over to CSU to make sure everything was properly bagged and tagged and the chain of custody was intact.

After that, Carisi and Amanda headed back to the precinct, and Amanda scowled at Carisi before slumping off toward the breakroom in search of Rolos while Carisi headed back to his desk.

On his way, he ran into a still harried-looking Barba. “Counselor,” Carisi said, a little surprised. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just wanted to check on the search,” Barba said. “Needless to say, my night ended when the sprinklers went off, so I haven’t had much to do besides wait and hope you didn’t completely screw things up.”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “For what it’s worth, Counselor, we did everything by the book.”

To Carisi’s surprise, Barba managed a small smile as he looked up at him. “I believe you, Detective,” Barba said simply, before adding with a slightly more characteristic tone, “Keep me posted on what else you find.”

With that, he turned to go, and Carisi winced. “Uh, Counselor?” Barba paused and glanced back at a him, and Carisi waved a hand vaguely in Barba’s direction. “Uh, not sure how to say this, but uh...I think a bird pooped on you.”

Barba’s expression went from mild curiosity to something like horror so quickly that Carisi could barely track the change. “Fucking Christ,” Barba muttered, trying to look over his shoulder to see the damage, but frankly, Carisi felt it was for the best that Barba likely couldn’t see the white stain that ran down the center of his back.

Without another word, Barba took his jacket off, his nose wrinkled in disgust, and he left, presumably to burn the jacket — or else send it out to the dry cleaners, Carisi honestly couldn’t tell which. Carisi just shook his head and was about to return to his desk when Amanda emerged from the breakroom, a bemused expression on her face. “So the vending machine fucked up,” she said bluntly, before spilling not just one but four candy bars on Carisi’s desk. “These all fell down together.”

“Nice,” Carisi said appreciatively, giving Amanda a genuine smile and offering her one of the candy bars. “Almost makes up for the fact that we’ll be here all night.”

Amanda laughed tiredly and took the candy bar from him, both of them turning when the interrogation room door banged open and Fin emerged, scowling. “One of you want to take a crack at this guy?” he asked. “Asshole exposed himself to a group of kids, but now he’s a stone wall.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” Amanda asked, glancing at Carisi.

Carisi just shook his head. “Nah, I got it,” he said. “But that means you get to do all my paperwork.”

“Deal,” Amanda said, her grin sharp, and Carisi rolled his eyes before hesitating and grabbing two of the candy bars Amanda had brought him.

Then he headed into the interrogation room, flashing a smile at the perp, who glared sullenly at him. “Hey, sorry about that,” Carisi said genially. “You, uh, you want a candy bar?”

The perp’s eyes flickered to the candy bar on the table in front of him before shrugging and looking away. Carisi just slid the candy bar across to him. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said cheerfully, unwrapping his roll of Rolos, “but Rolos are my favorite.”

Again the perp glanced at him before reluctantly reaching out and grabbing the Snickers bar. “Thanks,” he said reluctantly.

Carisi looked at him carefully, watching as he unwrapped the candy bar and took a bite. He popped a Rolo in his mouth and decided to try the sympathy angle. “You know, I boosted a pack of Rolos once,” he said conversationally, leaning back in his chair. “I was just a kid, right? But my ma — I mean, Christ, it was harmless, but she seemed to think I was some kind of criminal, you know?”

The perp nodded. “Yeah,” he said, looking pointedly around him. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.”

Carisi laughed. “I can only imagine,” he said, shaking his head. “So what my ma made me do was confess my ‘crime’ to the priest because she was convinced I was going to hell. I think the priest made it about a minute into it before he burst out laughing.”

The perp managed a hesitant smile. “He wasn’t concerned about your mortal soul?” he asked, chuckling lightly.

“Nah, apparently larceny under a buck doesn’t really count,” Carisi said, grinning. “So, uh, why don’t you walk me through your version of what happened? ‘Cause my bet is that it’s gonna be like me stealing those Rolos, where Sgt. Tutuola made it out to be something so much worse than it was.”

For one long moment, the perp just stared at him, and Carisi held his breath, hoping his gambit would pay off. Then the perp shrugged and leaned forward. “So what happened is this,” he started, and Carisi had to bite back a grin.

Not even ten minutes later, Carisi emerged from the interrogation room, grinning triumphantly, signed confession in hand. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Fin said, snatching the confession from him and scanning it.

“God _ damn _ it,” Amanda sighed, looking mournfully at her pile of paperwork.

Carisi frowned. “Hey, it’s fine, I’ll totally help,” he said immediately, having no intention of actually holding Amanda to their bargain of her finishing all his paperwork.

But to his surprise, Amanda waved a dismissive hand. “A deal’s a deal,” she said firmly. “Besides, my babysitter’s paid through the night anyway. No reason for us both to be exhausted and miserable tomorrow.”

Thought Carisi managed a laugh, he still asked, “Are you sure?” When she just glared at him, he held up his hands defensively. “Just checking!” He hesitated. “Honestly, it’s been so long I have no idea what to do with a night off.”

Amanda groaned and threw a paperclip at him. “Go home and shut up,” she advised, and Carisi grinned.

“Well that at least I can manage.” He hesitated just a moment more. “Have a good night.”

And then, for the first time in longer than Carisi cared to remember, he actually left the precinct early and headed for home and his waiting bed.

* * *

 

Barba’s day started off poorly, and seemed only destined to get worse.

The alarm on his phone didn’t go off, leaving him scrambling to get dressed, and he barely managed to get a Lyft in time for him to make it to the courthouse before his first arraignment hearing.

But then, the Lyft headed in the opposite direction of the courthouse, and Barba glanced up at the driver, his brow furrowed. “Where are we going?” he asked, trying not to sound as cranky and caffeine-deprived as he felt.

“Picking up the next passenger,” the driver told him, and Barba gaped at him.

“The next—” He broke off, scrambling for his phone, and groaned when he opened the Lyft app. Instead of selecting his usual Lyft, Barba had somehow requested a Lyft Line — which meant he was forced to carpool with whomever else was relatively on his route.

In other words, there was no way in hell Barba was making it to court on time.

After several frantic texts to Carmen directing her to try to stall the judge through whatever means necessary and two pickups of people who were seemingly headed nowhere near where Barba needed to go, Barba finally arrived at the courthouse.

Fifteen minutes late.

He swore under his breath as he looked at his watch, and almost went right past the coffee cart, but no matter how late he was, Barba knew his day would only be infinitely worse without caffeine, so he made a quick detour. The line, of course, inched forward, and Barba was bouncing on the balls of his feet by the time he got to the front of the line. “Coffee, black,” he barked. “Largest size you have.”

“We only have decaf at the moment,” the barista said apologetically. “It’ll be five minutes before the regular coffee’s brewed.”

Barba normally prided himself on how well he kept his emotions in check, but in that moment, he actually almost cried.

He didn’t, of course, but he did drag himself sans coffee into the courthouse, praying that Carmen’s stalling efforts had paid off.

Based on the look the judge gave him when he got into the courtroom, they had not.

“Mr. Barba, how nice of you to join us,” he said dryly, and Barba winced.

“My apologies, Your Honor,” Barba said quickly, setting his briefcase down and opening it quickly. “The State requests—”

Somehow, his notes on the case in question slipped out of his grasp and scattered across the floor. Barba bit back a curse and bent over to grab the papers, freezing when he heard a telltale ripping sound, and he closed his eyes in horror at the realization that somehow, he’d split the seam of his pants.

When he straightened, his face burning red, Rita was looking over at him, something like amusement mingled with horror. Barba cleared his throat and conspicuously avoided looking at Rita. “The State requests remand, Your Honor,” he managed, giving a silent prayer of thanks to whatever higher power was still listening that he’d worn boxer-briefs roughly the same color as his pants. “The defendant is accused of multiple violent crimes and has the means to flee.”

Rita offered whatever cursory argument she had in response to that, but frankly, Barba tuned her out, mostly trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do. He had an extra suit in his office but another hearing not too long after this one — he could perhaps get Carmen to bring his suit to him, but even that was no guarantee.

He was only half paying attention when the judge handed down ROR —released on one’s own recognizance — in lieu of any kind of bail or remand agreement, only waiting for the gavel so that he could leave the courtroom as quickly as possible.

But as quickly as he scurried out, Rita somehow still managed to catch up with him. “Are you feeling alright?” she asked, frowning sideways at him as she matched his stride.

“Just fine, thanks,” he said, his voice strained.

“Which is why your ass is half out for Manhattan’s legal experts to see,” Rita said sweetly, and Barba whirled around to scowl at her. 

“If you must know,” he hissed through clenched teeth, giving voice to his most frustrated thoughts, the ones he’d been trying to tamp down all morning because of how close they bordered on the absurd, “ever since this godforsaken masquerade bash — which  _ you _ dragged me to, I might add — it’s like I’m the anti-Midas, and everything I touch turns to crap!”   


Rita blinked, and something like a smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “This...seems like a bit of an extreme reaction to ripping your pants.”

Barba’s glare deepened. “To ripping my pants  _ in court _ during a case,” he seethed. “And that was just the beginning. Don’t even get my started on my Lyft snafu and coffee failure today.” He paused, trying to find a better way of putting it, but then he burst, “I feel like I’ve lost my luck.”   


“So you admit it was luck!” Rita crowed, smirking at him.

Barba glared at her. “This is why I don’t tell you anything,” he snapped.

Rita rolled her eyes, clearly unconcerned by his sour attitude. “I was clearly kidding—” she started, but Barba cut her off.

“Whatever,” he said, straightening and adjusting his suit jacket as if it might somehow hide the massive hole in his pants. “I’ll be fine. You and I both know that luck is just an excuse. I still have all the skill that I’ve honed over the years, and I can do this on my own.”

Rita just raised an eyebrow at him. “First and foremost, are you trying to convince yourself or me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Secondly, there’s probably a lesson to be learned here about needing to rely on other people. But that aside, maybe there is something to be said about you losing your luck.”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Yes, because we’re living in a fairy tale and I bequeathed my luck on the frog prince I kissed last night,” he said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

For better or for worse, Rita ignored him. “When did you say that this started?” she asked instead.

Though Barba sighed heavily, he decided to indulge her, at least for a moment. “Like I said, after the unmitigated disaster of a masquerade ball last night,” he said.

“And did anything unusual happen at the masquerade last night?” Rita asked doggedly.

“Besides almost burning the building down?” Barba scoffed before pausing, realization settling in. “Actually — yes, something did happen.” He sighed, realizing how it was going to sound in light of what he’d sarcastically suggested. “I...met someone. And kissed him.”

Rita brightened. “That must be it!” she exclaimed. “He must’ve stolen your luck.”

Barba again rolled his eyes. “That’s impossible,” he said dismissively, because it was. Because luck as a concept was absurd, to say nothing of someone somehow ‘stealing’ the concept of luck.

Rita just gave him a look. “And twenty minutes ago, you probably would have said that my client getting ROR was impossible.”

“Fair point,” Barba said after a long moment. He hesitated, torn between arguing with Rita more about the very premise of what she was suggesting and moving into possible solutions. The latter won out after Barba lost his grip on his briefcase, which fell to the floor, popped open, and spilled his papers everywhere. “So how the hell do I get my luck back?” Barba asked with resignation as he crouched to pull his papers together.

Rita pursed her lips as she watched him. “Well, if you lost your luck with a kiss, it stands to reason…”

Barba groaned. “So I have to find this guy and kiss him again?” he asked. “How the hell do I even figure out who this guy is? I never saw his face.”

“I’ll get a list of attendees from the DA’s office,” Rita said decisively. “And we can go from there. In the meantime…” She trailed off, giving Barba a pitying look. “You might want to, um, get yourself cleaned up. And try not to do anything that requires anything resembling luck.”

“I have a motions hearing in two hours,” Barba told her with a resigned sigh.

Rita winced. “You might want to see if you can get it postponed.”

At that moment, Barba’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced down at it before sighing, a soul-weary sigh of unavoidable problem. “That’s not going to happen,” he said grimly. “Because it’s been pushed up. The hearing now starts in…” He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes.”

Rita again looked like she was torn between laughter and horror, and she settled for arranging her face in something like a mournful expression. “Well, I’d say good luck, but…”

“Yeah,” Barba said with another sigh. “I know.”


	4. Chapter 4

Barba stared unseeingly at the casefiles spread open across his desk and sighed heavily. He was torn between pinching the bridge of his nose and massaging his temples, but he had a feeling that neither would help his mounting headache.

So he settled for staring at his casefiles, not even bothering to look up when his office door opened.

“Hey,” Carisi said, something like concern in his voice, and Barba closed his eyes.

The last thing he wanted right now was to deal with the perpetually cheerful detective. Not after the day he was having.

“I heard about your motions hearing,” Carisi continued, and Barba sighed.

“Whatever teasing you plan on doing, just get it over with,” he said, too tired to be as snippy as he intended.

Carisi chuckled lightly and Barba glanced up to glare at him. Carisi seemed unperturbed by his glare. “Actually, I didn’t come to tease at all,” he said lightly. “I came to offer my help. I know I’m not, uh, a fully qualified lawyer or anything, but even I know how to use a search index.”

Barba sighed again. “Tempting though that offer may be, Detective—” he started, but Carisi cut him off.

“Counselor, no offense, but whatever excuse you’re about to give is bullshit.” Barba blinked at Carisi’s bluntness, and Carisi gave him a look. “You had, what, ten different pieces of evidence suppressed at the motions hearing today? Frankly, you need a goddamn miracle to pull this case off, but you’re gonna have to settle for me.”

Despite himself, Barba’s lips twitched. “You don’t consider yourself a miracle worker?

“Closest thing I’ve ever come to a miracle is praying an intercession on someone’s behalf,” Carisi said with a chuckle. “In which case, I’m happy to toss one up to St. Jude for you.”

Barba raised an eyebrow. “Patron saint of lost causes?”

“And desperate cases,” Carisi said, his dimples deepening as he grinned at Barba. “But I know a little something about lost causes and needing all the help I can get. Besides, St. Jude and I are old friends at this point.”

Though Barba laughed, he also had to admit that Carisi had a point: he needed help. “Fine,” he relented, clearing off a patch of desk and indicating that Carisi should sit down. “I’m obviously looking for precedent to get evidence readmitted in whatever way necessary. The full list of suppression motions is there—” He waved a hand at the list he’d hastily scrawled during court. “—and, you know, good luck.”

Carisi gave him a slightly crooked smile. “Thanks,” he said, a little sarcastically, plopping down in the seat across from Barba and pulling one of casefiles toward him.

Silence fell between them as both men worked, and surprisingly, it was Barba who broke the silence, unable still to fully concentrate on the work before him. “Is there a patron saint of bad luck?”

Carisi glanced up, clearly surprised, and  laughed. “Nah, I don’t think luck’s much of a Catholic thing,” he said. He raised an eyebrow at Barba. “You feeling unlucky, Counselor?”

Barba shrugged. “It’s certainly one explanation for why everything in my life has turned to shit lately,” he muttered. He gave Carisi a look. “But even if it’s not a Catholic thing, you have to admit that you’ve thought about bad luck before. Given, you know…”

He trailed off and Carisi chuckled and shook his head. “Given who I am as a person?” He supplied, grinning, and Barba shrugged, managing a small smile of his own. “Believe it or not, I consider myself lucky, Counselor.”

“Really?” Barba asked doubtfully.

“Well, yeah,” Carisi said, like it should be obvious. “I’ve got a family who loves me, which, given our religion and my sexuality, was never a guarantee. All my nieces and nephews are healthy and predominantly happy. I have a job that I love, doing work that is incredibly important. How can I not consider myself lucky? Everything else compared to that is just…” He trailed off and shrugged. “Background noise. And a bit of a lost cause in its own right.”

Barba just shook his head slowly. “I guess I never thought of it that way,” he admitted.

Carisi grinned at him. “Of course you wouldn’t,” he teased, setting his casefile down and resting his elbows on Barba’s desk as he leaned forward. “You’ve always worked so damn hard to get where you are, and luck’s had nothing to do with that.” He paused, a slight pink tinge darkening his cheeks. “Besides, uh, I’ve been especially lucky to have you in my life.” Barba raised and eyebrow and Carisi hastily added, “As a mentor, I mean. You’ve done, you know, incredible things, and I’ve learned more from you than half my law school classes.”

“Thank you, Carisi,” Barba said quietly, Carisi’s words meaning more to him after the day he’d had than literally anything else.

He had long enjoyed Carisi’s company, however much he might refuse to admit that anyone, especially the detective. As much as Carisi could be loud and obnoxious, he was also eager to learn, both the law as Barba taught it but also ways to dish out as good as Barba gave. It did more to him than Barba would admit even to himself to have Carisi tease him right back when Barba blustered at the overeager detective. 

Still, focusing on that now after everything Barba had been through was only bound to end in disaster, so Barba managed to look away from Carisi and his blue eyes and his fucking dimples and back at the casefile in front of him, clearing his throat. “So,” he said, the levity in his voice forced, “you clearly know how my day has gone. How has your day been?”

Carisi’s brow furrowed. “You want to know about my day?” he asked skeptically.

“I mean, not particularly, but I’d prefer to hear about that than whatever inane thing you were planning on blathering about,” Barba said, the cutting edge of his words belied by the small smile he gave Carisi.

Carisi laughed. “Sure,” he scoffed. “I could probably just rattle off nonsense words and you wouldn’t notice.” Barba just gave him a look and Carisi laughed again, slightly ruefully this time. “Well, my day…” He trailed off and shrugged. “I dunno. It was a good day.”

“A good day,” Barba repeated dryly. “What exactly does that look like for an SVU officer?”

Carisi shrugged again. “It looks like nailing a predator,” he said bluntly. “Guy had been linked to a dozen different sexual assaults across the city. We got a confession outta him so chances are you won’t even see the case, but man, it was a doozy.” He shook his head slowly, his shoulders hunching as he bent over the case file. “Thankfully, we caught a break.”

Barba glanced up, intrigued despite himself. “The case you needed the warrant for last night?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Carisi said. “Guy had a warehouse he’d rented under a different name where he’d take his victim. We got a bloody knife at the scene with the most recent vic’s DNA, and even better — bastard kept trophies from his other rapes. He won’t be seeing the light of day for a long time.”

“Good,” Barba said, with no small amount of heat, before pausing and giving Carisi a slightly grudging smile. “I see what you mean,” he admitted. “That sounds like a good day.”

Carisi smiled slightly as well. “Wish everyday could be like this,” he said, before glancing at Barba’s casefile-covered desk. “Uh, for me, at least. Not so much for you.”

Barba laughed dryly. “What, not enjoying the meteoric downfall of the once-great Rafael Barba?”

Carisi rolled his eyes. “Dramatic much?” he scoffed. “So you had a bad day. One bad day does not a downfall make. Besides, tomorrow will be better.”

“You sound fairly confident of that,” Barba said mildly.

“Well,” Carisi started, a slow grin crossing his face, “let me put it this way: it probably can’t get much worse.”

Barba laughed loudly. “You’re not wrong there,” he admitted.

Carisi grinned at him and was about to say something more when his phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and frowned down at it. “It’s the Lieu,” he told Barba before answering. “Hey Lieu, what’s up?” He gestured vaguely and Barba grabbed a pen and a pad of paper, sliding them across the desk to Carisi, who mouthed ‘thank you’ as he scribbled an address down. “Tell Rollins I’ll be there in twenty.”

Barba could just hear Olivia’s voice on the other end of the phone. “With your luck? I’ll tell her you’ll be there in forty.”

Carisi barked a laugh at that and rolled his eyes, mostly for Barba’s benefit. “Hey, I’ll have you know I hit all green lights on my way to Barba’s office,” he told her. “So maybe my luck’s turning around.”

Olivia made some comment that Barba couldn't hear and Carisi laughed again. “I’ll see you there, Lieu,” he said before hanging up. “Sorry, uh—”

“Duty calls?” Barba guessed.

Carisi nodded as he stood. “Yeah. But, uh, if it doesn’t take too long, I can come back, help you out some more.”

Barba waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he told Carisi with a small smile. “As much as I appreciate the help — and for once, Detective, I’m not being sarcastic, but try not to let that go to your head — you have a job to do, and that doesn’t involve researching precedent for me.”

“Fine,” Carisi relented, grinning, and Barba sighed.

“You’re definitely going to let that go to your head, aren’t you?”

Carisi’s grin widened. “Maybe. See you around, Counselor.”

He turned and left, almost colliding with Rita as she let herself into Barba’s office without knocking. “He seemed in a hurry,” she remarked, taking Carisi’s vacated seat. “What did you do to him, Rafael? Didn’t I tell you to avoid anything that involved getting lucky?”

Barba rolled his eyes. “You said to avoid anything involving luck,” he said pointedly. “And I didn’t do anything, he got called away on a case.” He gave her a look. “Now is there something I can help you with?”

“The opposite, actually,” Rita said breezily, opening her bag and pulling out a piece of paper with a flourish. “I got the list of attendees from the DA’s office.”

Barba snatched it from her, scanning quickly through the list of names. “Well, fuck,” he said after a long moment. “I recognize just about everyone on this list, and I’d know if it was one of them.”

Rita glanced up from the casefile she’d been flipping through while Barba read through the names. “This is a good catch,” she says, a little surprised, indicating the note scribbled in the margin. “I didn’t think you had it in you without your luck, but maybe there’s something to be said about skill after all.”

Barba rolled his eyes and leaned forward to look at the note she was pointing at, frowning. “As much as it pains me to admit it, that was Carisi’s catch, not mine.”

“Still planning on arguing it’s skill and not luck, then?” she asked, grinning, then, suddenly, a look of realization crossed her face. “Hang on, Det. Carisi was at the masquerade party.”

“What are you talking about?” Barba asked, frowning. “NYPD wasn’t invited.”

Rita waved a dismissive hand. “No, he came to get a warrant or something. I sent him over to you shortly before the whole fire incident.”

Barba froze. He remembered looking up into the masked man’s blue eyes, remembered thinking that they looked all-too-familiar.

He remembered kissing those lips and how had it not occurred to him then that they were the same lips he’d thought about kissing hundreds of time before?

“That thieving son of a bitch,” Barba ground out, standing indignantly as the full understanding crested over him. “Rita, I have to go.”

He marched out of his office without another word, ignoring Rita, who called after him, “Hang on, are you telling me that you kissed Carisi?!”

He definitely ignored her followed shout of, “Finally!”

Barba had a bone to pick with the detective, and his luck to get back for good.

* * *

 

Barba avoided Lyft this time around, knowing that he would be in for disaster, and instead relied on public transportation to get him to the crime scene whose address Olivia had texted him without questioning why he wanted it.

And even though Barba had managed to sit in something that smelled suspiciously like vomit on the subway, he still stalked over to the crime scene with his head held high, his fury only growing with each lurching stop the train made.

Fury at himself, mostly, for not recognizing Carisi.

Fury also at Carisi, for not saying anything, for dancing with Barba, for kissing him, for—

For doing everything that Barba had at one point in time or another daydreamed about, even if he’d never admit it to another living soul.

His scowl was firmly in place when he caught up with Olivia, who managed a slightly tired smile when she saw him. “Hey Rafa,” she said in greeting. “What’s the reason for the house call?”

“Can’t I just check in on my favorite squad?” Barba asked, too waspish to sound even remotely close to the joking tone he’d intended. “Actually I need to speak to…”

He trailed off, catching sight of Carisi over Olivia’s shoulder, seated on the back of an ambulance next to a little girl who couldn’t be more than six or seven. Olivia followed Barba’s gaze and sighed. “She’s been living in horrific conditions,” she told Barba in an undertone. “Her stepfather apparently has been keeping her in a cage, among other things. She wouldn’t talk to anyone when we got here, but she seems to have taken a shine to Carisi.”

Barba watched as Carisi gestured expansively, probably telling some kind of story to the girl, who was wrapped in a blanket and looked positively emaciated. She managed a tiny smile and Carisi beamed at her. Olivia’s expression softened as she watched. “It’s lucky, really,” she said softly. “The sooner we can get the full story out of her, the faster her hell on earth is no more than a nightmare of a memory.”

Barba’s heart clenched as he watched the little girl tentatively lean against Carisi who didn’t even hesitate before putting an arm around her shoulders, possibly the first gentle touch the girl had felt in years. “Sure,” Barba said hollowly, a sinking feeling in his gut. “Lucky.”

He nodded at Olivia and muttered an excuse about needing to go before turning around and walking away from the scene. He had come with one dual mission: to give Carisi a piece of his mind, and to get his luck back.

On the first front — assuming, of course, that Rita’s absurd theory about Carisi ‘stealing his luck’ when they kissed was correct — how could Barba possibly give Carisi a piece of his mind when, based on this day alone, Carisi had done so much more with Barba’s luck than he ever had? He had known, obviously, the regular perils that the detectives faced, and the fleeting thought had occurred to him that his luck might have the benefit of keeping Carisi safe.

But he had never even anticipated what effect it might have on victims, on those who needed Carisi’s — and the other SVU detectives’ — help the most.

And then there was something else, something Barba had long been denying for longer than he cared to admit, but something that had been driven home by the reality of — of, well, the absurdity that was now his life.

Despite everything, despite a horrendous mustache when first they met, despite a grating Staten Island accent that was an assault on Barba’s ears everytime the detective spoke, despite a seeming lack of volume control, absolutely no subtlety, the grace of a newborn giraffe — despite all these things, Barba was slowly coming to the realization that the feelings he had for Carisi might go beyond the professional.

Might veer into the realm of personal.

Might even tiptoe towards something like Barba slowly, reluctantly, begrudgingly falling for blue eyes and dimples and a flawed man with a good heart.

Barba wondered if that’s why he had gone so willingly to dance with the stranger at the masquerade party, if he had caught sight of those blue eyes and let himself get caught up in the thought of wishing it had been Carisi. To make matters both better and infinitely worse, it had been.

And all Barba wanted was to kiss Carisi again, with both of them fully aware of who the other was.

But to kiss Carisi would mean Barba getting his luck back, and while he had schlepped all the way across town with a plan to do just that, now that Barba had seen how Carisi was using his luck — how Carisi had done more with it in a single day than Barba had been able to pull off his entire life — he knew that he couldn’t do that.

Which also meant, as luck would have it, he could never kiss Carisi again.

And wasn’t that just the cruelest twist of luck of all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to everyone who has read this!!

Barba’s phone rang and he answered it automatically without looking at the screen. “Did you do it?” Rita asked excitedly.

“Did I do what?” Barba asked, tired.

“Did you kiss the detective, of course.”

Barba sighed. “No, Rita, I did not kiss him.”

He could hear the frown in her voice. “Why not?” she asked. “And don’t tell me that it’s because you didn’t want to because I know better, Rafael.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Barba said, a little grimly. “I did want to kiss him — I  _ do _ want to kiss him.”

“Then—”

“If I kiss him, I get my luck back.” Barba took a deep, steadying breath, trying to feel more resolved than he actually, even remotely felt. “And then what? I get to kiss the lov—the detective once and only once, or else risk losing my luck again? And in the meantime, his luck goes back to being shit?” Barba shook his head, even though he knew Rita couldn’t see it through the phone. “No. If Carisi has my luck, maybe it’s because he needs it more than I do. And as someone who cares about him, I figure the least I can do is let him have it.”

Rita was silent for so long that Barba almost asked if she was still on the line, but then she sighed, deeply. “Rafael Barba, that is some grade-A, self-important  _ bullshit _ . And coming from me, who got you on this whole thing about your luck in the first place, that’s saying something.”

“Rita—” Barba started, but Rita cut him off.

“I get the whole noble, self-sacrificing thing, but first off, no one likes a martyr, and secondly, this just isn’t that deep. You’re making this so much worse than it needs to be. This isn’t life or death—”

“But it could be!” Barba snapped. “Every single day he goes out there to deal with the worst monsters humanity has to offer, with the very real chance that he could be injured or worse while on the job, just to keep other people safe.”

“And every single day you make sure those monsters are behind bars so that they can’t hurt anyone else,” Rita said calmly. “Life or death doesn’t just apply to the detectives you work with, Rafael. And if you were thinking clearly — and if you would get your head out of your ass — you’d be the first one to tell me that.”

Barba ground his teeth together in frustration. “Fine,” he snapped. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’ve been right all along. But that doesn’t mean it’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

With that, he hung up, the move considerably more decisive than he actually felt.

Maybe Rita did have a point.

But Barba couldn’t get the image of Carisi sitting in the back of the ambulance with that little girl out of his mind.

And that was enough to tell him he was making the right choice.

He slumped down the stairs to the subway, completely unsurprised to hear a tinned voice making an announcement that the next train was delayed due to a “police investigation”, code for any number of incidents and a sure sign that he was going nowhere fast.

Barba sighed heavily and sat down on a bench, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to rest against the wall. He had no idea how much time passed as he waited, having lost count of how many times he heard the announcement repeat itself.

He had just about reached the point of calling it quits and walking back to One Hogan Place when he heard a familiar Staten Island accent ask, “You waiting on a train?”

Barba glanced over at Carisi, startled by the detective’s sudden appearance. Carisi was standing just a bit too close to be truly casual, but that didn’t surprise Barba after all this time. “What are you doing here?” he asked with something like resignation.

Carisi shrugged. “Saw you come down here,” he said off-handedly. “Figured the train was delayed — there was an incident three stations down. Heard it on the radio and thought you might still be here.”

Sighing, Barba looked away. “Well, while I appreciate you telling me that—” he started, but Carisi cut him off.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, something almost painfully earnest in his voice. “Earlier today, I wanted to talk to you, and, uh, I didn't really get a chance. About...about the masquerade party.”

“Carisi—”

“It was me,” Carisi said simply. “I was, uh, I was the guy you danced with. And kissed. I wanted to tell you earlier, to talk to you earlier, but I figured the last thing I wanted to do was add to your bad luck today.”

Barba’s expression softened. “I don’t think that counts as bad luck.”

Carisi frowned slightly. “You don’t seem surprised to hear that it was me.”

“I’m not,” Barba said honestly. “I realized...well, it doesn’t really matter what I realized. What matters is this: it can’t happen again.”

He tried his best to make his point all the more decisive by standing, shifting to put some space between him and Carisi, who cocked his head. “Why not?” he asked, a challenge clear in his voice.

“It’s for your own good,” Barba said, pitching his tone to match Carisi’s: a challenge, and a warning.

Something stubborn stole over Carisi’s face. “My own good?” he repeated. “What do you know about my own good?”

“I know—” Barba started, but again Carisi cut him off.

“Because here’s what I know,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I know that was one of the best moments of my entire life, and I know that I wanted you to know it was me. I wanted you to  _ want _ it to be me. And if you don’t want that, then that’s fine, I’ll bow out, but Raf, I don’t think that’s what this is about.” Barba just stared at him and Carisi gave him a look. “You’ve never hesitated to tell me that I’m wrong before.”

Barba sighed. “You’re not wrong,” he said, a touch reluctantly. “But it’s…” He trailed off, wondering how to put it, and decided on the truth. “It’s our luck,” he said ruefully. “Or, I guess my luck and your lack thereof. Somehow, and I realize this is going to sound crazy, our luck got switched.”

A smile threatened at the corners of Carisi’s mouth. “You trying to tell me that kissing me was unlucky, Counselor?”

“Of course not,” Barba snapped impatiently. “But that’s not the point. The point is, somehow, when we kissed, you took my luck. And after everything I’ve seen today, you’ve put it to better use in one day than I have my entire life. Which means you deserve it so much more than I do — and that also means we can’t do this.”

Carisi’s smile didn’t fade, and he shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, if that’s true, and that's a big ‘if’, Counselor, since it's been awhile since I believed in fairytales, then I don’t want your luck.”

Barba scowled. “Are you crazy?” he demanded.

Carisi laughed, apparently unperturbed by everything that Barba had just told him. “I mean, you’ve accused me of it more than once,” he admitted. “But if you’re so concerned about your luck, then I want you to have it.”

“What?” Barba said, baffled. “No. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Carisi shrugged again. “Maybe not, but as great as today has been, as great as it’s been to feel lucky for a day, I’ll be fine without it.”

Barba stared at him. “How do you know that?” he asked, his voice cracking, and something painful tightening in his chest as he thought about every single dangerous scenario that Carisi could find himself in, every time when he would need Barba’s luck so much more than Barba did.

“Well, for starters, I’ve been unlucky for a lot longer than you, and I got by before,” Carisi pointed out, and took a step closer to Barba, reaching out to rest a hand lightly against his arm. “And also, I’ll have you. Anything else that comes up along the way would be a small price to pay.” Barba had a thousand different arguments he could make to that,  but Carisi didn’t give him the chance, leaning in and giving him a swift peck on the lips. “There,” Carisi whispered, his smile slightly crooked as he pulled just far enough away from Barba so that he could talk. “Tag, you’re it.”

As if on cue, the intercom crackled to life with an announcement that the next train was approaching, but Barba didn’t pay any attention to it, closing the space between them to kiss Carisi again, a real kiss this time, balling a hand in Carisi’s shirt to hold him close.

Almost instantly the intercom announced that the train was again delayed.

Carisi wrapped his arms around Barba as he deepened the kiss, and the intercom announced that the train was back on schedule. Barba sighed, his lips opening against Carisi’s, and once more came the announcement that the train was delayed.

They both stopped paying attention after that.

When they finally broke apart, they had kissed so many times that Barba had no idea which of them had his luck, but it didn’t matter.

Barba had never felt luckier than he did in that moment.

“I don’t care about luck,” Carisi said, as if he could read Barba’s mind. “I’m the luckiest man in the world to have met you, to have fallen in love with you, and to even have a small shot at you feeling the same way. Everything else is just—”

“Background noise,” Barba said softly, remembering what Carisi had said earlier in the evening and echoing it back to him. “And I couldn’t agree more.”

A slow grin spread across Carisi’s face, and he ducked his head to kiss Barba once more. “For all I care, we can keep swapping luck back and forth for the rest of our lives,” he said. “Hell, I—”

“Are you two about finished?”

Barba and Carisi turned simultaneously to find a harried-looking Olivia giving them a look further down the platform. “Carisi, we have a case to work on, and Barba, I’m certain you have something better to be doing. And yes, I’m very glad you two have finally admitted what any one of us could so clearly see, but some of us aren’t lucky enough to have all the time in the world for this.”

Barba glanced at Carisi, whose smile had turned into more of a smirk. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Carisi asked.

“I do believe I am,” Barba said, smirking as well. “If there’s anyone who needs it…”

Together they walked over to where Olivia was waiting, and when they reached her, both men leaned in to kiss her on either cheek at the exact same moment. “Sorry about that Liv,” Barba said with a grin as he pulled away.

“Won’t happen again, Lieu,” Carisi promised with a matching grin.

Olivia frowned at both of them. “What the hell—” she started, but she was cut off by her cellphone pinging, and she glanced down at it, her expression instantly brightening. “Oh, that’s lucky,” she said. “We caught a break in the case already.”

She headed towards the stairs to head out of the subway, and Carisi made as if to follow after her, but Barba grabbed his hand. “Hang on,” he said. “I have a better idea.”

He jerked his head towards the elevator and Carisi’s grin widened. “Why, Counselor,” he teased, linking his fingers with Barba’s, “are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Maybe,” Barba said, aiming for coy and failing mostly because he slipped on a wet patch and almost fell to the ground, though Carisi managed to keep him upright before almost walking into a ‘Caution: Wet Floor’ sign. “Still think it’s worth it not to have luck?” Barba asked, though he was grinning.

“That depends,” Carisi shot back, pushing the button for the elevator. “You still gonna help me study for the Bar, even without your luck?”

Barba rolled his eyes. “Practicing law has nothing to do with luck and everything to do with skill,” he scoffed, following Carisi onto the elevator. “Luckily for you, where I may no longer have luck, I still have skill. Besides,” he added, giving Carisi a sideways glance as the elevator doors slid closed, “you can’t teach luck. Skill on the other hand…” He trailed off and shrugged. “We might both being luck there.”

Carisi grinned. “So since we’re alone in here,” he started, though he came to an abrupt stop when the elevator shuddered, made a loud whining noise, and ground to a halt. “We’re stuck.”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious,” Barba said, rolling his eyes. 

Carisi ignored him, taking out his cellphone and sighing when he looked down at it. “No service,” he reported.

Barba glanced at his Blackberry and shook his head. “Same,” he reported, tucking his phone back in his pocket and looking up at Carisi. “So we’re stuck in an elevator with no phone service and no way to get out.”

Despite the circumstances, a small smile stole across Barba’s face and Carisi frowned at him. “What could you possibly find amusing about this situation?”

“Nothing,” Barba said, his smile turning wicked. “Just thinking about the phrase ‘getting lucky’.”

Carisi barked a surprised laugh and shook his head. “Really, Counselor?” he asked. “That’s a bad pun, even for you.”

Barba just raised an eyebrow at him. “You, on the other hand, might want to contemplate the phrase ‘pushing your luck’ if ever you expect to get lucky,” he advised sourly, and Carisi laughed again, though this time his expression softened.

“Well luckily,” he said, pulling Barba in and kissing him once more, “I’m pretty sure I’ve got some time for contemplation on my hands.”

“Yeah,” Barba said with a soft smile of his own. “All the time in the world. And just our luck.”


End file.
